


a lily peeking at a night descending

by wanderNavi



Series: tiny ships in the shadow of the behemoth [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, I can’t believe this is the first damn thing I write in the new year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 20:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17270597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderNavi/pseuds/wanderNavi
Summary: The only preparation he gets, standing in the shining hall, holding a flute of champagne because it’s one of those nights apparently, is Chrom suddenly choking on air midsentence. Thankfully, the ball’s already in swing, so adoring crowds aren’t milling around them in mass to watch the Exalt embarrass himself. Frederick knocks back the flute in one go for strength and turns around.He isn’t ready.One day, that pleased smirk on Robin is going to kill him and it will be when he least expects it and most deserves it.





	a lily peeking at a night descending

**Author's Note:**

> You ever start shipping something, but then forget how or why it started?

Frederick surfaces from sleep sometimes, into a pre-morning too dim and quiet, the sun still dressing for the day, the birds still tucked into slumber, and forgets Robin’s back, that there’s heat soaked into the bedsheets at his side, that the apartment doesn’t ring with emptiness.

He squints through the dim dawn light at Robin already throwing on her vest and robes, boots at the ready for her to shove onto her feet. He sits up. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, dear,” she whispers back and shuffles a pile of papers into a stack. She picks up the clip to pin her sweeping hair back and stomps into the boots.

He should get out of bed himself, but instead watches her routine with the blanket pooled around his waist, watches this normalcy returned to his life, letting the soft noises of her yanking her bag open to dump the papers into soothe him with the bold-faced declaration that her unyielding mind is alive. It terrifies him sometimes, the silence, the rooms without the thin smell of old books Robin snuck out of the castle library, half the plates unused, only one mug in the sink, as he kept brewing too much tea or coffee for one person to drink. So, he watches her, how she’s never completely quiet with a foot tapping in thought, her breaths, cloth whispering over the table as she writes with a scratching quill because she likes it when her words resist even her.

Robin walks over to him and tucks back his hair, rubbing a thumb at the patch starting to go gray. She kisses him briefly and reminds him, “The dress is finally ready, just in time for tonight’s ball. Help me pick it up?”

“Yes,” he says, and she kisses him again in thanks, then leaves.

* * *

They don’t cross paths during the day as much anymore, so Frederick doesn’t know exactly when Robin grabs the dress, a confusing spool of folds and unending fabric, he retrieved from the tailors in the morning. It isn’t hanging in their room by the afternoon when Frederick comes back to prepare for the ball himself. Nor did he ever have a chance to accompany Robin to those sessions of trying on outfit after outfit, picking over miniscule differences and details. He has no idea what Robin is going to look like.

The only preparation he gets, standing in the shining hall, holding a flute of champagne because it’s one of those nights apparently, is Chrom suddenly choking on air midsentence. Thankfully, the ball’s already in swing, so adoring crowds aren’t milling around them in mass to watch the Exalt embarrass himself. Frederick knocks back the flute in one go for strength and turns around.

He isn’t ready.

One day, that pleased smirk on Robin is going to kill him and it will be when he least expects it and most deserves it. He barely has enough time to realize Robin curled her lengthening hair into soft waves, unpinned and cascading over her shoulders, framing her dark eye and pink lips, before she’s latched onto his arm and says, far too amused, “Good evening, Exalt Chrom,” while the man’s still coughing for control.

“Good evening, dear,” she says to him, while he’s still distracted by the bare skin of her back, down to a delicate dip in her spine, the dress’s dark, heavy fabric taunt over her chest and over the curve of her hips before billowing out into a majestic train. No wonder it weighted so much. Only the automatic muscle memory of manners and etiquette reminds him to squeeze out, “Good evening,” back to her.

“Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I’d like to have a dance with my husband,” she tells Chrom while plucking the empty flute from Frederick’s hand and setting it down at the table.

He waves them off, “Go ahead, we weren’t talking about anything too important.”

Somehow no one steps on Robin’s dress, and Frederick suspects magic’s involvement in keeping Robin on her tall, thin heels. She’s tucked flush against him and it’s more the experience from sparing with her than _dancing_ with her that keeps him from stumbling through the musical pieces.

“Is there a reason for this,” he casts around in his mind for any warnings and retributions lately, to explain the long sweep of bare skin under his hand, focusing on her face and not on the eyes watching, letting the rest of the room dissolve into a haze of fine purple like her hair.

“Just one,” she says and then doesn’t elaborate.

When he finds himself sitting at one of the tables at the side of hall, watching the swirling bodies on the dance floor, he has no recollection how he got there. With a shaky handed certainty, he knows he’s not getting much sleep tonight.

* * *

He pushes her down and she falls back onto the bed with a delighted gasp as his hands run up her body, plucking at the buttons and hooks latching up her dress at the neck, the small, stubborn, tight pieces of metal in his way, pushing the cloth off and aside. He presses his thumbs into the dip at her hips, along her ribs, and up in circles against her breasts. “Wait, dear, my hair,” she giggles, deft fingers taking out clips he hadn’t seen and shaking out the curtain of light purple bangs. Frederick runs his hands through that too, letting the strands shift through his hold, then cupping her face, bringing them together for a light kiss. How soft this all is, with time unspooling, unending and in slowed down drags, minutes expanding into the hours and more in their promises of years to each other. He sinks his face into the reality of this peaceful era exemplified in the moonlight licking the curves of his wife’s body, lightheaded with how gloriously alive she is.

“Out, out of these cloths,” Robin commands, smiling against his lips.

Of course, he follows.

She kisses him as each layer comes off, slow and lazy with enjoyment, a press at the crease of his mouth, at the beating pulse of his wrist, at the corner of his jaw, then working down his chest as it comes exposed. She runs her fingers over scars and the lines age has started working into his skin.

“Wanted to surprise you,” she says, “Wanted you to remember, wanted us to remember this and never forget.”

“Of course, I’ll remember this, for as long as I can.” The smell he breaths in ragged, at the base of her ears, is of crushed flowers and a sweet, sour bite of citrus, orange peels. The light perfume washes over him so he doesn’t think too hard about creases and rumpled folds in clothing discards in a corner of the bed and then kicked off onto the floor.

He keeps her pinned under him with his weight, keeping her anchored to the bed, to this world, unable to dissolve into ash or into the air. He remembers their first promises, and can’t bear to carry it out anymore, silently begging her for forgiveness in breaking that first oath because he’s had to live several years with her presence suddenly severed from his life and he can’t do it again, not by his own hand, not with his own sword hilt biting into the callouses on his palm and her blood on the blade, not even for the sake of the kingdom or the throne. With light nips, Frederick travels down the familiar planes of her body, from her throat to her collarbones, down her sternum and over the hard muscles of her belly jumping with her pleased hums. He hooks his thumbs over the seams of her dress still sitting over her hips and slowly eases it off her, unrolling her naked glory.

The world opens, as a flower blooms, the sharp petals of a lily peeking at a night descending.

Robin’s hands find their way into his hair and draw him up, kissing him, and kissing him again, hard and wet, with tongue and sucking on lips. He braces his weight with one arm, nudges her legs open with his knees, and presses his other hand into the wet slick of her, rubbing his fingers between her folds and over her clit, the way she likes it, rewarding him with a happy purr and her arching into his chest. The dark, dim light amplifies the sounds of her gasps and his heavy breaths, the sounds of him spreading her out like a feast.

Her hands snake down his body, over the dips and curves of his muscles, over the bumpy ridges of his spine, over the thighs bracing her open. They pet and stroke over his dick heavy and hard with anticipation as she shivers at his fingers rubbing another circle into her. Frederick pulls back from their heated tangle and drinks in the cool blue highlights rippling over Robin’s face as she laughs at him rolling his shoulders back and his muscles flexing in a wave down his body.

Tucking his hands under her body, he lifts her and carries her further up the bed, laying her out among the pillows. Her laughter rises harder then cuts into a shriek, high-pitched noises, when Frederick licks between her thighs and sucks at the hard nub of her clit. He noses through the course curls of her hair, running his tongue over and over through the smooth valley, licking through the salty stickiness, then pressing a finger to her entrance. A hand’s in his hair, yanking and urging him on with shaking legs wrapped around his shoulders.

Frederick lets the rise and fall of Robin’s moans guide him, feasting at a leisurely and luxuriously slow pace, ignoring the throb of his cock for how she shudders around him. He looks up once, away from the dark heat of her, and sees her other hand working over her chest, playing with her perked nipples. Her voice floats down, breathless, “Keep going,” so he sinks his head back down and slides another finger into her, curling and going in and out, helping her stretch open.

He starts pressing in harder, a third finger now too, to the pace of Robin’s wrecked “Oh gods, oh _gods_ , Frederick – ah, _AH, please_ ” conducting him in licking and kissing her out as her hips start jerking against his hold. He rubs her into the orgasm, breath exploding out of her in punctuation as she comes, and through it to when she starts writhing from the stimulation, crying out with deep breaths that lift her into the air. His fingers fucks her through it, just a bit more, then pulls out, sticky and wet.

His jaw aches and both their voices are a mess and the sound that comes deep out of his throat is more growl than anything when he ask her, “Tell me Robin, what do you want?”

She grabs his hand and starts sucking it clean, while her hip nudges against his to roll over. They flip, so now Frederick’s on his back and Robin’s locked her legs around his hips. She rubs against his cock in tiny twitches, just enough friction to bring his pent up _want_ roaring up, and gasps, “Fill me up, please fill me up.”

The lube’s still somewhere in the bedside drawer. His fingers scramble for it, while she keeps rocking back and forth. The moonlight splashes full across her face, ethereal and glowing, leaving nothing in her expression hidden in shadows. Her eye watches him, half closed, head tipped back just so, her lips parted as her hips take one last rolling drag over him.

A thread of that old nightmare suddenly shoots through Frederick, that’s she’s going to be gone in the blink of an eye, that this time she’ll never return, that this is only temporary, and it makes his hands shake. Robin must notice something, because she makes a questioning sound, but he pushes the fear to the side.

He slicks up as quickly as he can, almost anxious to get inside her. He brings the head of his cock against the opening of her vagina that his fingers fucked open. With the same smirk she greeted him at the ball with, Robin sinks down.

His mind’s shorting out, as she rises and falls on his dick, burrowing more of him into her with each wave. Her fingers clench in the sheets by his waist, her back arched like a bow, working her way over him until he’s as far into her as they can go. There are going to be bruises on her hip and thighs, from where his fingers are digging in too hard against how slow she’s going, taking her time.

“Robin,” says the growl and she says, “Yeah, yeah,” pulling up, then snapping down in one smooth move.

Frederick shouts at that and as she does it again and again, bouncing on him now with his own hips jerking up to meet her. Her tits are bouncing too, and her hair is flying everywhere. Her head tips back all the way, showing the long expanse of her neck in the silver moonlight. He wants to kiss it and behind her ears and on her mouth making those delicious gasps and moans.

So, he pulls her down against him, chest against chest, planting filthy wet, open kisses on her mouth. The bed squeaks with each drag of his cock in her.

Arms around her, and locked inside her, Frederick rolls them over one more time. He yanks up her ass to press against him better and folds her legs up, thrown over his shoulder so she’s even more open to take him in. Satisfied with their arrangement, he resumes pounding into her, sinking into the wet slaps of flesh against flesh, submerging into his rough pants and her mewing gasps.

He’s caught in how Robin clenches around him and goes harder and rougher into her, speeding up, encouraged by her babbling stream of his name and “yes, yes, like that, _please_.” He rubs her clit and her whole body seizes, one live electric wire and choking over her cries. Her hands are clawing at the sheets and he holds her bucking hips steady with his hand and rubs her into coming again. The muscles spasm around the cock he’s still plowing into her unrelenting.

“That’s good, just like that, Robin,” he tells her as she squirms. He can feel himself nearing his own edge. Each thrust brackets his words he drags out of his chest, “You’re so good, I’m almost–”

“Yes, inside me, oh gods, Frederick,” she chants. Her legs lock behind his neck, preventing his escape.

Frederick jerks inside her a couple more times, four, five. Then his mind blanks as he comes into her hot clutch, filling her up. Robin’s legs swing off his shoulders to cling around his waist and he sinks down to lay on top of her. When he tries to pull his softening dick out, with his release and her slick dripping on him, her legs stiffen, and she whispers, “No, not quite yet.”

“Robin?” he asks, quiet, feeling the fucked-out bliss washing through his mind like the tide.

“Just stay like this for a little longer,” she tells him, so they do.

* * *

The next morning, Robin picks up the dress from its crumpled heap at the foot of their bed and shakes it out with a half-smile tucked into her face.

“I think I’ll keep this one,” she says.

Frederick looks at her in surprise, picking his own horribly creased clothing from the ground. “I thought you didn’t like keeping the ball gowns.”

Normally, Robin doesn’t keep the dresses and robes from these kinds of galas and balls, renting them or returning them the day after. She explained to him before in half-complaint, “For some reason, people take issue to wearing the same dress twice, and I hate the idea of letting clothing gather dust in our closet after wearing them only once.”

The smug pleasure radiates from her entire naked form as she pats the dress and hangs it in their wardrobe. “Considering how completely distracted you were all last night, I think you like this dress a lot as well.”

It’s not like Frederick can argue against that.

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god, this is so long and I don't even fully know the point of something this gratuitous. it's because of, I don't know, because I just could?


End file.
